


The Great Pretender

by grand_budapest_queen



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Drug Use, First Kiss, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23666722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grand_budapest_queen/pseuds/grand_budapest_queen
Summary: When Freddie finds a young man who goes by the name of Farrokh in a Munich night club, he senses that the stranger needs his help.Little does he know that meeting Farrokh would turn into a lesson on self-love, acceptance and dealing with his past as well as his future.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Farrokh Bulsara
Comments: 11
Kudos: 13





	The Great Pretender

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my darlings,  
> I know that this is a bit of a weird one and will probably not be everyone´s cup of tea.  
> The difference between the Freddie of the 70s and the Freddie of the 80s has been something that has fascinated me from the moment I came into the fandom.  
> His cultural background and his early years as a teenager/young adult in London have also always been super interesting to me. What a struggle it must have been for young Farrokh to find his place in society and to figure out who he wanted to be and what he wanted to do with his life. And how fascinating would it have been to watch Freddie Mercury, rockstar legend, fashion icon and overall genius have a chat with his shy 19-year-old-self! And there you have it, this is what this fic is about!
> 
> I know that there are parts of it that are quite dark. Still, I hope you find this entertaining.The many layers of Freddie´s personality and his personal growth and change throughout the years are something that I´ll never get tired of. So feel free to have a little discussion with me in the comments if you like. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Freddie had found the boy cowering in a dirty corner in one of the empty rooms of the club. His face was hidden from the singer and the red neon lights were making his thick, slightly curly hair shine, glossy and black. 

Freddie had been on his way back to the bar and had gotten lost in the seemingly endless rooms and passageways of the BDSM club Paul had dragged him into on this rainy Tuesday night.  
Recently, he had come to find Munich night life increasingly miserable.

One trip to the loo to take a leak and inhale another small dosage of cocaine later and Paul was nowhere to be found. 

Instead, Freddie had spotted the boy, hidden away, as if he was ready to claw his way right into the wall. He was pressing his face into his knees, hugging his thin legs with a pair of even skinnier arms.  
Even though his features were hidden from Freddie´s eyes, he appeared to be far too young to be in a club like this. 

Freddie wasn´t someone who liked to stick his nose into other people´s business. Still, he had found himself becoming increasingly protective of younger gay men, to the point where now, at 36 years old, he often looked out for his younger friends when they were out partying, making sure that none of them drank themselves into unconsciousness, bought cocaine from an unreliable source or went home with someone who had an air of being violent or downright abusive. 

Freddie could sense these things in people by now.

“Are you alright, darling?”, he asked the boy over the pumping of the base. The music was almost too loud to understand a word he was saying.

He got no reaction from the stranger. 

Freddie became increasingly worried.

Maybe the boy was unconscious? Maybe his body wasn´t coping with the substances he had consumed? Maybe someone had hurt him?

Gently, he bowed down and placed a hand on the boy´s shoulder. It felt bony under his palm.

“Excuse me dear, are you okay?”

As soon as he had touched the stranger, he felt the body under his palm shake violently. His head shot up and huge, dark eyes looked up at him, fearfully, panicked almost, like a deer in the headlights.  
The boy´s face was just as slim as the rest of his body, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. His eyes seemed almost black in the dim light. They were slightly puffy as if he had been crying. 

“Oh, I´m sorry, darling. Did I startle you?”, Freddie asked him with a friendly smile and carefully pulled his hand away. 

For a second, the boy seemed caught up in his motionless panic, his haunting eyes roaming over Freddie, as if he wanted to determine if the singer posed a potential threat to him. 

“Yes…”

Freddie couldn´t really hear what the boy had said. Only by the movements of his lips, Freddie could tell which words he had uttered. 

The boy suddenly seemed slightly disoriented, his eyes hastily travelling around the room. 

“Do you know where you are, dear? Did you have a bit too much to drink?”, he asked, trying to make his tone sound as friendly as he could while still making himself be heard over the booming base.

The boy shook his head. His lower lip started quivering, his slightly protruding front teeth making him look even younger. 

Freddie again found himself guessing how old he was. He looked young, 19 or 20 maybe, even though there was a slight but quite dark stubble on his chin and his cheeks. 

Regardless of his young age, the boy obviously needed help and Freddie would definitely not leave him behind, all by himself, cowering on the floor.

“Come on, darling! Let´s get you back onto your feet, yeah? I´ll help you get up and then we´ll go get you a nice glass of water.”

He put his hands back on the boy´s slim upper arms, which made him flinch and almost scramble to his feet. Freddie let go of him as soon as he was standing upright again. 

“There we go, that´s better.”, he said with a smile, even though the boy still almost seemed traumatised by the fact that Freddie had helped him up by touching him.

He appeared to be scared, his dark eyes still scanning the room, as if he was expecting someone to barge in at any moment and cause harm to him. 

“Darling, has someone in here been bothering you?”, Freddie asked him gently, trying to look the boy in the eyes, but he wouldn´t meet the singer´s gaze.  
He just shook his head, his eyes wide and full of nervous restlessness, focused on a point in the room somewhere behind Freddie.

They heard footsteps outside in the long, narrow hallway. 

Freddie got a glimpse of a group of four or five men, tank tops, muscled arms, leather pants, sweaty skin, moustaches. Their faces illuminated by the bluish neon lights in the long hallway. Laughing and chatting, carrying a waft of weed and alcohol along with them. 

They were peeking into the room, looking at Freddie, looking at the boy, grinning, laughing loudly, making crude gestures.  
The boy flinched, fear flashing in his eyes. 

To Freddie´s surprise, he suddenly got closer to him, almost as if he wanted to hide behind Freddie, his thin, spidery fingers clinging onto the lapels of the singer´s leather jacket.  
Freddie could feel him shaking like a twig and led by his instincts, put his arms around the boy´s slim body protectively. 

“It´s okay, my dear…It´s okay, they´re gone. They´re not here to hurt you, they´re just having a little fun, it´s okay…”, Freddie said quietly, his lips close to the boy´s ear. 

Even as the men´s voices had carried away, since they had probably found another room to continue their shenanigans in, the boy didn´t distance himself from Freddie.

“Do you want to get out of here?”, Freddie asked him and the boy suddenly looked him in the eyes, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he was evaluating what reason the strange man with the moustache had to be so kind and friendly towards him.

He then nodded his head, slowly, fearfully. 

“Alright…”, Freddie said with another gentle smile towards the boy. He would take the boy´s hand and lead him towards the main room of the club, find Paul and then ask him to call his driver.  
Freddie knew that Paul would be cross with him if he saw him in the company of another man, but quite frankly, the Persian didn´t care. 

In these past months, he wasn´t only becoming tired of Munich, but also of Paul himself and the life he was leading with him.  
Drugs, sex and parties every night, two or three hours of sleep and endless days in the studio, spent hearing Paul go on and on about what a musical genius he was, were starting to become monotonous.  
Freddie felt himself caring less and less about the man who wasn´t really his boyfriend, but who he stilled allowed himself to be bedded by whenever he felt lonely enough.  
They weren´t good for each other. 

“What´s your name, darling?”, Freddie asked the boy. 

“Farrokh…”, he said, so softly and quietly that Freddie had to lean in to even understand him.  
“My name is Farrokh…”

Farrokh looked so very small, sitting next to him in the car, Freddie thought.

His dark eyes were glued to the ever-changing scenery of Munich by night, as the car drove them to Freddie´s house. 

The boy seemed to be fascinated by the lights, leaning his head against the glass of the window and gazing out of it. 

Freddie´s driver had picked them up from the club just ten minutes ago. 

“Got an address you want my driver to drop you off at, sweetheart?”, Freddie had asked him while they had made their way through the club filled with people.  
Farrokh had still almost clung to him, flinching every time someone casually or not-so-casually brushed up against him. 

“No…”, the boy had murmured quietly into Freddie´s ear. 

“No?”, Freddie had looked at him quizzically. “No place to call home, darling?”

The boy had shaken his head.

“Guess we´re just going to my place then.”, Freddie had said with a shrug and even though the boy had still looked at him as if he was ready to run off at any minute, he hadn´t objected.

To his utter surprise, Paul hadn´t made a scene when Freddie had found him by the bar, a protective arm slung around Farrokh´s slim shoulders, asking him to call his driver.  
The Irishman hadn´t even looked at the boy. 

It was probably one of his exhausting mind-games, simply ignoring Freddie´s new acquaintance, only to start a huge fight over the whole business in the following days. Paul could be jealous and unforgiving, just like Freddie could be cruel and cold when brought to his limits.

Freddie was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed that Farrokh had lifted his gaze from the window and was now looking at him.  
The expression in his face was unreadable, a sliver of fear, a smidge of curiosity. 

“Are you hungry, Farrokh?”, Freddie asked him. 

“No…I´m never hungry.” The boy was speaking with a slight lisp, probably due to the fact that his front teeth were really quite large and protruding.  
“Nonsense darling, you´re nothing more than skin and bones.”

The boy frowned at him, a notion of rebellious opposition in his dark eyes, making him look like a stroppy teenager. 

“Well, I´m not hungry, so…”

“Alright dear, you´re not hungry, got it.”, Freddie replied quickly. 

Beside his polite ways, the boy seemed to have quite the temper, but Freddie wasn´t offended in the slightest. Someone who had a mind of his own was far dearer to him then someone who answered to every question with a nod and a quick yes.  
Still, the boy´s protest to eating was something that concerned him just a little bit. 

The drive to Freddie´s house didn´t take them very long. At this late hour, the streets had been almost empty. 

Freddie had gotten out of the car, wishing his driver a good night, before opening the door to Farrokh, who seemed impressed with Freddie´s lodgings. 

The building was quite modern, lot´s of glass and open space and even though it didn´t feel particularly cosy or much like home to Freddie, he still liked to show it off to new acquaintances.

“There we are. Come on, love, let´s get inside. It´s awfully chilly out here.” 

Farrokh seemed very impressed with the singer´s home as they walked closer over a neat concrete path up to the driveway and to the front door. 

“Come on in, darling”, Freddie said, as the boy hadn´t followed him inside but stood outside for a second, still marvelling at the beautiful gardens and the sheer elegance of the place. 

The boy shyly treaded after him, standing around in the spacious dark hallway, seeming as if he wasn´t quite sure what to do with himself.

“Alright dear, let´s go to the kitchen. I´d like another drink”, Freddie sighed. 

“What would you like? A glass of water? A nice hot cuppa tea?”, the singer asked the boy, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

For a second, the boy´s eyes roamed freely around the clean surfaces and expensive décor of the kitchen, until he focused back on the singer. 

“Champagne.”, Farrokh said without hesitation. Freddie couldn´t help but laugh. 

The boy simply looked at him, still showing no indication of not being serious, so Freddie fought down his amusement and pulled a more serious face. He still couldn´t help but smirk at the boy. 

“Oh…you´re not joking, aren´t you, darling?”, he said and Farrokh just shrugged.

“You look like someone who´s never out of champagne.”, he simply answered, but this time he couldn´t help but smile, a cheeky glint in his dark eyes.

“You´re right, dear! One should never be out of champagne.”, Freddie said, smiling back at him.

The singer walked over to the fridge, opened it and pulled out one of the three bottles of finest Champagne he kept in there at any time, making sure the stock was always replaced as soon as possible and he never ran out of it. 

Expertly, he opened up the bottle over the sink, pulled out two glasses from a cupboard and filled both of them up with the sparkly liquid.

“There you go, love. Cheers!”, he handed Farrokh one of the delicate glasses. 

The boy´s excited gin was frankly adorable to the singer. He seemed genuinely pleased with himself.  
“Thank you, Mr…”

Freddie noticed that he had never given the boy his name. Being the rockstar legend, fashion icon and overall favourite of gossip magazines´ first pages, Freddie had simply assumed that the boy knew who he was. 

But Farrokh still looked at him, as if he was waiting for an answer, his gaze sharp and curious and so Freddie decided to just roll with it.

“Mr. Mercury. But you can call me Freddie, darling. All my friends do.”

The boy gave him a close-lipped smile, his brown eyes twinkling almost cheekily.  
“Freddie Mercury…I like the sound of that!”

“Well, there are other names I go by…”, Freddie said with a chuckle and the boy´s gaze seemed glued to him. 

“What are they?”, Farrokh asked him, brown eyes excited and vulnerable, almost childlike.

“Well…there´s Larry Lurex but I don´t go by that one anymore. Mother Mercury but that´s also in the past. Mr. Fahrenheit of course and Mr. Bad Guy more recently. I like those a lot.”  
Farrokh nodded, taking another sip of his champagne, swallowing fast and promptly giving an adorable little hiccup. 

Freddie took a generous sip from his own glass.

“Those are terrific!”, Farrokh said, hiccupping again.

“Terrific?!”, Freddie laughed at the slightly old-fashioned expression the boy had used.

“Sorry…I keep using these weird words. I´m not really used to the way people in England talk yet, only lived there for a couple of years…”, the boy admitted, blushing.

“Where did you live before, darling?”, Freddie asked, but Farrokh didn´t seem very pleased with the question.

“I don´t want to talk about that. Besides, that´s none of your business.”, he said in an almost snappy tone and quickly took another sip of champagne.

There it was again, Farrokh´s temper, but Freddie understood the boy´s reason to be so closed off about his origins.  
He himself knew what it was like to always hear the question where he was from.  
Saying that England was his home country had gotten him many a raised eyebrow over the years and even though most people weren´t so downright rude as to question his words, he had always been able to tell that they didn´t believe him.  
He wasn´t one of them…never truly one of them.

“Well, fair enough, dear. I get it. I´m sorry for asking.”, Freddie simply said and gave the boy a gentle smile, taking another sip of champagne.

“It´s alright…”, Farrokh replied, blushing slightly, as if he was a tad embarrassed about his previous behaviour.

“Are there any other names you´re using? I must say, I love the idea of an alias!”, he asked, apparently simply too curious to let his shyness get the better of him.

“Well, there is Melina, of course!”, Freddie said, smiling brightly and enjoying the slightly confused look that appeared on the boy´s face.

“Melina?”, Farrokh laughed loudly, but then quickly covered his mouth with his hand, hiding his smile.  
“But that´s a girl´s name!”, he said, his voice slightly lowered as if they were talking about something very naughty.

“So? It´s my drag name, darling! I think it´s fabulous!”, Freddie replied with an air or pretend-arrogance that made the boy giggle again.

“Drag name?”, the words sounded foreign from Farrokh´s lips.

“Well my dear, it´s for when I put on my wigs and skirts and bras and pretty make up and I go out and pretend to be a girl…a very hairy girl…with a moustache...”, the singer explained and watched an expression of fascination and yearning appear on the younger man´s features.

“I love girl´s clothes…They´re so pretty and delicate. All those beautiful fabrics and patterns. I´d love to try some on myself…one day.”, Farrokh admitted with a soft little sigh.

“What´s holding you back, dear? I think you´d look lovely in them…”, Freddie gave him a look from head to toe as if he wanted to determine which clothes and accessories would suit him the best.  
“A nice flowy blouse maybe. And one of those delicate scarfs around the neck. A little eyeliner as well.”

“Do you really think I´d suit a style like that?”, the boy asked shyly. A smile crept onto his lips and this time, he didn´t hide it from Freddie. He seemed in awe, as if Freddie´s words had been something he had been waiting to hear for all his life, wishing that someone would finally notice him.

“Baby, you were born for it!”, Freddie smiled at him brightly and the boy´s smile got a little wobbly. He took a deep breath, blinking a few times to hide the fact that his eyes had gotten slightly watery.  
But then the smile disappeared. Freddie could see another emotion overcoming him.

“But…won´t people think that I´m…you know…a faggot?”

Freddie hated hearing that word, wretched word, whispered to him in school hallways and classrooms, shouted at him on the streets. Freddie the faggot…Freddie the puff…Freddie the…  
It was a huge effort for him to stop these thoughts from taking over his mind. He took a deep breath and then looked the boy in the eyes, once again feeling the urge to protect the boy from any harm.

“You just don´t listen to those arseholes, darling! You just go and be your fabulous self and whoever thinks there´s something wrong with that can simply piss off or I´ll come kick their arse myself!”

Farrokh smiled at him again, shyly and definitely a little teary now. Freddie supressed the need to cradle the younger man´s cheek in the palm of his hand and pull him close.

One look into the boy´s beautiful brown eyes and he knew that it was already too late. Somebody already had hurt him, with words and actions. The pain would never truly fade away. 

“Thank you, Mr. Mercury…I mean…Freddie…”, Farrokh murmured and awkwardly took the last gulp of champagne from his glass, placing it on the kitchen counter.

The silence that had settled over them didn´t last very long. 

“Are these all the names you go by?”  
Farrokh gave him another one of his charmingly boyish smiles.

“Well, there is another one but that´s for a future project…”, Freddie replied, contemplating on whether to continue and tell Farrokh about any of his projects that weren´t strictly official yet.

“Please Mr. Mercury…do tell me!”

Farrokh smiled at him hopefully, his eyes big and brown and Freddie couldn´t resist him any longer.

“Well, it´s in a song actually…Not my own song, someone else´s written it a long time ago. But something about it speaks to me…The Great Pretender…”

“The Great Pretender?”, Farrokh asked softly, the words rolling off his tongue as if he was savouring them.

Freddie suddenly felt as if a cool breeze had brushed his exposed neck. A shudder crept up his spine. 

He turned his head to the side, his eyes darting into the dark hallway as if naturally drawn to the spot that the soft light of his kitchen lamp didn´t touch anymore. 

A high-pitched tone started ringing in his ears, growing in intensity.

“Pretending that you´re still around…”, a soft voice whispered as the ringing in his ears stopped abruptly.

“I´m sorry darling…Did you say something?”, Freddie heard his own voice ask, oddly high-pitched, his lips tingling, his chest feeling tight. 

Freddie suddenly felt dizzy, the lights in the kitchen seemed to flicker eerily as the darkness from the hallway crept closer and closer, licking at the floorboards, whispering and moaning, reaching for him, pulling him in, tempting him to come closer and…

“No Mr. Mercury…em…I mean Freddie. I was as quiet as a mouse. ” Farrokh said, seemingly slightly puzzled by the sudden change of mood in the singer.

“Oh…”, Freddie murmured. “That´s odd. I swear I´ve heard someone say something…”

Freddie rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. God, it had been an awfully long day and an even longer night.

“Maybe I´m just tired…Should probably go to bed.”

Freddie took the last sip from his glass of champagne and put it on the kitchen counter.

The boy seemed unsure of what to do next. Freddie didn´t really know if he was just shy or genuinely uncomfortable with the idea of sharing a bed with him. Despite of his young age, Farrokh didn´t seem to be a stranger to the customs of the gay scene. Dear god, the boy was probably surprised that Freddie hadn´t dragged him upstairs the moment they had entered the door.

The thought of that made Freddie feel ashamed. His intentions when taking Farrokh to his house had been far from using him for a quick tumble in the sheets. 

“You can join me if you like, darling.”, Freddie suggested in a very gentle voice.

Farrokh blushed furiously and averted his gaze.

“I promise I´m not going to do anything you wouldn´t be comfortable with.”, he added, but still Farrokh stayed silent.  
Freddie suddenly felt like a fool. The last thing he wanted was to make the boy uncomfortable.

“There´s a guest bedroom upstairs as well, dear. Several in fact. Just choose one of them, they´re all quite lovely…”

Farrokh´s eyes were suddenly back on him, huge and dark and very scared. 

“No…no, please don´t leave me alone, I´ll get scared…”, the boy muttered.

Freddie gave him a warm smile and shook his head. Farrokh was biting his lip nervously. Even though he didn´t seem like he was totally comfortable with going to bed with a stranger, the thought of sleeping alone seemed to terrify him even more.

“I won´t, darling. Come on then…”

The singer took the boy´s hand and to his surprise, Farrokh didn´t jerk back. 

Without objection, he let Freddie lead him out of the kitchen, into the hallway, up the stairs and into the master bedroom.  
With a little sigh, Freddie turned on the lamp on8 his night stand. 

Without shame, he started undressing, taking off his leather jacket, shoes, black vest top and tight jeans, which left him in his underwear. 

He was way too knackered for another trip to the bathroom, so he just laid down on top of the covers of his spacious bed with an exhausted groan. 

The room was almost minimalistic, at least to Freddie. Crème walls, a wardrobe, heavy curtains to block out the sunlight and a bed, big enough to fit four or five people. Not that Freddie hadn´t tried to.  
There was no artwork on the walls, no little knickknacks on the shelves, no notebooks on the nightstand. 

Freddie came here to sleep off the cocaine and the vodka and to have meaningless sex. There was no need for this room to feel too much like home. 

“Ahhh…lovely…”, he murmured, eyes half closed, getting comfortable. 

He could feel Farrokh´s eyes wandering along his body, captivated by the man in front of him on the bed. 

Since Freddie had started working out some five or six years ago, his previously quite skinny body had responded beautifully to the exercises he was doing to broaden up his chest, define his arms and tighten up his stomach area. 

Many men had previously admired his physique, being most impressed with his slim hips and waist and very well-rounded arse.  
Shyly, Farrokh nestled around the hem of his shirt, seemingly not really knowing what to do with himself.

“I can cover my eyes if you like, darling.”, Freddie said, his offer being genuine, even though the boy didn´t seem to believe it.

“I´m not a child.”, Farrokh snapped at him. “I don´t care if you look at me.  
Slowly, with shaking fingers, Farrokh took off his crème-coloured shirt, revealing a slim, surprisingly hairy torso. Freddie could see his ribs when he opened his slightly old-fashioned slacks and bend over to pull them down over painfully bony hips. 

The boy left his clothes on the floor just like Freddie had done and then awkwardly sat down on the bed next to the singer.

“Can I look at you?”, he asked, his voice very small.

“Of course, dear.”, Freddie said as the boy´s eyes roamed over him once again.

“Your shoulders are so broad.”, Farrokh murmured, his dark eyes wandering along Freddie´s collar bones.

“And you´ve got such nice strong arms.”, he smiled, blushing. Still his front teeth were peeking out from under his upper lip.

“May I touch you?”

There was fear in his eyes. Fear of rejection, fear of the consequences that his question could have. Still, even as he posed his question, his eyes darted back, curiously wandering over Freddie´s torso.  
The boy´s polite way of asking made Freddie smile softly.

“You may, darling.”

Slowly, Farrokh extended a slender hand. He seemed to hold his breath, as his fingertips first ghosted over Freddie´s shoulder and then gently ran down his arm, feeling the muscle. Freddie felt himself getting goose bumps. 

Farrokh dragged his fingers up again, touching the singer´s collarbone and then wandering down to his chest. He buried his fingers in the coarse, black hair on Freddie´s chest, playfully running them through it. 

“You´re so hairy…”, he murmured with a chuckle that was adorably nervous. 

Freddie found his smile growing a little tense. His amount of body hair had never been something he had been particularly confident about. 

Even though the black hair on his chest, stomach, legs, arms and even feet had never bothered him personally, he had gotten some quite nasty and frankly racist comments on it over the years. 

“I like it…”, Farrokh added, probably sensing the slight discomfort in the other man. “It´s really soft.”

“Thank you, dear. That´s very kind of you.”

They smiled at each other. It was now Freddie who felt inexperienced and slightly nervous. Nobody had ever complimented his body hair before.

“And your moustache…”, Farrokh continued, his fingers giving a little twitch, as if he was debating on whether he could get away with reaching up to Freddie´s face to touch the beard above his upper lip.  
“When I´m a little older, I´m going to have a moustache just like that.”, he announced.

“Thank you, darling. But isn´t there anything you like about yourself?”, the singer asked him.

The question made Farrokh´s shoulders sink. 

“No…I don´t particularly like myself…”, he replied in a tiny voice that made Freddie´s heart clench.

“But why is that, my dear? You´re beautiful, one the inside and on the outside.”

Farrokh furrowed his dark brows, his shoulders slightly hunched. 

The fact that every tiny compliment made the boy question his motives hurt him on more than a personal level. 

“You barely even know me. How can you know what I´m like on the inside?”, the boy asked him, looking at him questioningly.

“I assure you, I can be quite nasty if I want to. Mum always says I´m impatient and moody and Baba always calls me ungrateful and loud-mouthed and lazy and…”

A kind expression made Freddie´s features seem soft and warm.

“Oh shush darling, that´s exactly what my father used to say to me.”, he said to the boy.  
“I´m not talking about those things. Because quite frankly, at least your Mum might be right…”, he winked at Farrokh and the boy gave a soft little chuckle.

“I´m talking about your soul.”, Freddie added and Farrokh frowned again.

“My soul?”, Farrokh repeated.

“Colourful and free…painted like the wings of butterflies.”  
Freddie didn´t really know where the words came from and what had brought him to say them out loud. All he knew that they had to be spoken, that it was very important to say them to the shy, insecure boy in front of him, that he needed to hear them.

But Farrokh seemed very much not impressed.

“Ts, what´s that even supposed to mean?”, he scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

“You´ll see in time.”, Freddie simply replied, giving the boy´s skinny thigh a little nudge with his elbow that made him chuckle again.  
“Alright…what about your outside then?”, Freddie continued to ask. 

Farrokh sighed heavily, biting his lower lip. It seemed that the singer had asked a question that made the very upset.

“That´s the worst part of it all. I hate it…”, Farrokh finally murmured.

Freddie frowned at him, gently laying a hand on his shoulder.  
“Oh love, why is that?”

“I´m the ugliest person I´ve ever seen…”, he murmured, averting his gaze as if he was deeply ashamed.

“Darling…How can you say such a thing?”

Freddie´s voice was heavy with emotion as he watched Farrokh lift his head and look him in the eye. To the singer´s surprise, a sudden flash of anger showed on the boy´s face, his shoulders tense. He suddenly seemed very offended.

“You don´t have to be cruel, you know! Just because you´re rich and famous or something…”

The boy´s words broke Freddie´s heart. Farrokh seemed to think that the singer was playing a joke on him, having a laugh at his expense. He could only assume that there was a reason the boy believed this to be true, a past filled with ridiculed and teasing, a history of pain. 

“Farrokh…”, he said softly, once again extending his hand to the boy, but he was flinching.

“No, stop saying my stupid fucking name like that! I hate that name!”, he shouted at Freddie.

“Why? It´s a beautiful Persian name…”, Freddie said in a hushed voice. He found a certain melancholy clinging onto his next words, a feeling of nostalgia creeping up on him.  
“It means fortunate and happy.”

“Yeah, funny, right?”, Farrokh said, his voice cold and bitter. “Really fucking funny…”

Farrokh looked like a sad little boy, his hair a mess of black curls while he gave a pitiful sniffle, wiping at his eyes with shaky hands. He seemed very lonely, even though Freddie was right there next to him. 

“Darling…can I hug you?”

Freddie didn´t know where the question had come from. Maybe it had been an instinct, the simple knowledge that Farrokh needed him to be there right now, needed someone to hold him.

Nobody had been there for him back then. And damn, could he have used a hug when he was Farrokh´s age.

Slowly, the boy crawled over his side of the bed and curled up next to Freddie, snuggling up to him as the singer pulled his arms around his lithe body.  
Farrokh gave a little shiver and Freddie pulled him even tighter. 

“Let me get the blanket, you´re cold…”, he murmured, but the boy stopped him by laying a hand onto his arm.

“No, I´m alright, I don´t need a blanket.”, Farrokh looked up at him and even though he blushed heavily, he didn´t avert his gaze when he spoke his next words.  
“I´d like to keep looking at you…i-if that´s alright…”

Freddie gave him a gentle smile and a small nod. 

Farrokh´s hand that was laying on the singer´s back slowly started exploring, his fingers tracing along Freddie´s spine, up, the ghosting over the peach fuzz on Freddie´s neck. The boy sighed softly as he hugged Freddie even closer, as if he was curious of what it would be like to feel the other man´s skin on his. 

Freddie could feel how hot Farrokh´s cheek was, when he pressed it against his chest, could feel the boy´s warm breath on his skin. The boy seemed almost like he was in a trance, drunk on the feeling of touching him, experiencing the feeling of warm, naked skin under his hands. 

Farrokh shuddered when he pulled Freddie even closer, so he was now almost on top of him. 

The singer didn´t protest. Even though there was something distinctly sexual about the boy´s need for physical contact, he wasn´t uncomfortable with it. 

He experienced a feeling of protective familiarity, close to being aroused himself, but slightly less urgent. A strong need to provide Farrokh with a safe environment of non-judgemental intimacy. 

Farrokh raised his hips slightly, his groin pressing against Freddie´s strong thigh and the boy gasped breathlessly.  
Freddie could feel the boy´s erection pressing against his thigh.

Suddenly, Farrokh seemed very embarrassed by his body´s reaction to their closeness, quickly pulling back his hips, blushing furiously. 

“It´s okay, darling, you don´t have to be ashamed. It´s alright…”, Freddie murmured into his ear, laying a hand on the boy´s hip and slowly pulling him closer again. “Don´t be scared…It feels good, right love?”

Farrokh nodded and Freddie gently pressed down his leg on the boy´s groin, feeling him twitch and hearing him moan loudly, as if he was surprised by the intensity of his sudden pleasure. Still, Freddie couldn´t shake the feeling that some of this was quite overwhelming to the boy. 

He himself had been through sexual encounters that had been intensely pleasurable but had left him slightly confused and needing hours to finally feel like he was in control of his body again. He didn´t want that for the boy.

“Do you want me to stop?”, he asked in a soft voice, head slightly raised so he could look Farrokh in the eyes.

“No…no please don´t stop…”, the boy whispered softly.

Freddie held onto the boy´s slim torso with both hands and bowed down his head to press his lips against his smooth, bronze skin.

The singer was first kissing the concave of Farrokh´s stomach, his teeth nipping at the boy´s tight navel until he was squirming under him. 

Freddie looked up again, checking if Farrokh´s was comfortable with what he was doing.

Breathlessly they were looking at each other, brown on brown, pupils blown wide. 

A sudden feeling of warmth flooded Freddie´s chest, tingling and intense, spreading, reaching out into his whole body.  
He felt the overwhelming need to simply touch, kiss, taste the boy everywhere, to make him feel loved, cherished, adored with every touch of his palms, fingers, teeth and lips.

He bowed down his head and kissed the boy´s trembling rib cage, up and up, pressing his lips against each rib visible under the tight bronze skin, nuzzled at the dark hair on his chest, breathing in deeply, smelling a hint of soap and musk.

His teeth nipped at his shoulder, down towards the joint of it. Farrokh keened helplessly, when Freddie licked and bit at his armpit, planting teasing little licks up to his elbow, sucking on the bit of slightly rough skin only to return back down to his shoulder and chest. 

Farrokh looked up at him, flushed, scared and vulnerable under Freddie´s hands.

“It feels so good when you´re touching me…”, he whispered and Freddie nodded. 

Caressing Farrokh´s skin almost felt familiar to him, as if he had known him from somewhere, met him before, a long, long time ago.

“Don´t ever again say that you´re ugly, Farrokh. Not even in your head.”, the singer said, a stern expression on his face. 

The boy nodded, his gaze not leaving Freddie´s eyes.

“Promise me, my dear. Please…”, Freddie demanded, even though his tone stayed gentle.

“I promise…”, the boy breathed and then he softly laid a hand on Freddie´s cheek, a tender gesture.  
“You have to promise the same to me.”

“I promise, my darling.”

The boy smiled sweetly, then his thumb started to gently caress Freddie´s cheek.

Then he lifted his head, kissing Freddie with soft, warm lips that tasted of champagne. 

Their kiss was sweet, almost innocent and the singer didn´t dare to deepen it in fear of ruining everything. 

Instead, his lips travelled down from the boy´s lips to his neck, along his chest, kissing every rib and giving each nipple a playful little flick with his tongue that made the boy giggle and then moan.  
When Freddie had reached the waistband of the boy´s underwear, he halted again. Gently, he palmed him through the white cotton material. Farrokh was already panting heavily. 

“I´m probably not going to last very long…”, the boy warned him when Freddie pulled down his underwear to expose his throbbing erection, already softly cradling his heavy balls in his hand, which made Farrokh hiss in pleasure, throwing back his head.

Freddie couldn´t hide his smirk. It was something he himself enjoyed quite a lot, but never before had he met another man who responded to having his balls touched quite like him.

“Has nobody ever done this to you before, darling?”, Freddie asked him, his fingers now gently stroking up and down the boy´s hairy thighs.

“Yeah…but that was back in school…it´s been ages…”, Farrokh admitted, blushing again. “I´m going to be done in like a minute or something.”

“Don´t care…”, Freddie pressed a quick kiss to the boy´s sharp hipbone. “I want this to feel good for you, darling. So just relax.”

Under the singer´s lips, Farrokh came undone fast. Freddie enjoyed the high-pitched sounds the boy made when he took him into his mouth, licking, sucking, caressing him until he was nothing but a whimpering mess under him. 

When Farrokh finally reached completion, he was surprisingly quiet, his moan dying down, a hoarse sob leaving his lips, then he went limb under the singer. Freddie swallowed, his hands gently stroking the boy´s thighs again, calming him down. 

Freddie´s lips left Farrokh´s skin and he laid back down next to him, pulling the boy back into his arms. 

“Are you alright, darling?”, Freddie asked him, tenderly stroking the boy´s heated cheek with his thumb. 

Farrokh´s eyes looked clouded, huge and dark. The boy still seemed to float down from the height of his pleasure.

“Yes…”, he murmured sleepily. “I feel so…”, he chuckled, nuzzling his cheek into Freddie´s warm chest. “…good…”

Freddie chuckled softly, pressing a soft kiss to the boy´s unruly hair, that was now a complete mess of black curls. Farrokh´s head now rested on his chest, his breathing slow and even. Freddie started to gently run his finger´s through the younger man´s hair. 

“I´m sorry…I´m just so tired…”, Farrokh murmured.

“Sleep, my darling. It´s alright…”, Freddie said in a warm tone, leaning over to the nightstand to turn off the lamp on it. 

“Good night…”, Farrokh whispered, snuggling against Freddie´s chest. 

“Good night, love. Sleep tight.”, Freddie answered, feeling his own eyes closing slowly as he drifted off into sleep. 

When Freddie woke up, it was still dark.

He could hear Farrokh breathing softly, the boy still snuggled up against him, hugging him like a teddy bear.  
Freddie pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head and the boy cuddled up even closer to him, sighing softly in his sleep. 

Sleep was still pulling on Freddie´s mind, tempting him to fall back into the sweet, gentle nothingness.  
Lazily his gaze wandered through the dark room and then he saw it.

There was someone standing by the window.

Freddie tried breathing as evenly as he could. He felt his body going into survival mode, his heart beating so fast that it hurt.

Phoebe had warned him before about people who would break into his house if he wasn´t more careful.

Fans who would do just about anything to get some of his personal belongings or spend time with him. People who wished to cause him harm because he was gay. And now it had finally happened.

It was a man. Freddie could tell he was very slim, his shoulders narrow, the fingers long and thin, like twigs.  
Motionless, the stranger just stood there like a ghost, his body so grotesquely thin that he looked more like a creature than a man at all. 

Suddenly, he moved, turning his head to the side as if he had felt the singer´s gaze on him. 

Freddie closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

He heard footsteps on the carpet and breathing, slightly laboured as if the man was struggling to even walk the short distance over to the bed.  
How the hell had he even gotten in?!

“Too real is this feeling of make-believe…Too real when I feel what my heart can't conceal”, a voice sang into his ear, the same voice he had heard singing to him down in the kitchen. 

Freddie opened his eyes and felt the blood freeze in his veins. 

He was standing in front of the bed now, towering over Freddie and the sleeping Farrokh in his arms.

The man seemed skeletal. Skin, grey and thin like paper spanned across his scull-like face. His huge black eyes looked down at Freddie with a maddening desperation, one of them slightly milky in colour.  
He looked old, frail almost even though his face was wrinkle-less and his hair, although thin, was still dark and without any greys.

“Who are you?”, Freddie panted. “What the fuck are you doing in my bloody house?”

“Oh yes, I´m the Great Pretender…”, the man said in a thin sing-song voice.

The skin of his hollow cheeks was pulled tightly over his sharp cheek bones as he gave a terrifyingly toothy smile.  
The moonlight illuminated his face and Freddie could see the blemishes that covered his cheeks. They were covered up with thick make up that only accentuated them even more rather than making them disappear.

“Get out of my house! I´m going to call the fucking police!”, Freddie shouted at him.

The man´s ghastly grin turned into an expression of sadness within seconds.  
“No…”, he whimpered, his hands suddenly shaking badly. Tears were welling up in his dark eyes.  
“No, don´t send me away…Please…don´t leave me alone…”

The man was grabbing him with a surprising force in his frail hands.

“Get off me, you sick bastard!”, the singer hissed, trying to get away but he found himself unable to move.

Anger flashed over the man´s features, his face a terrifying mask of rage and desperation.

“This is all your fault! You let me get this way!”, he hissed and Freddie struggled even more to get the stranger off of him.  
“I hate you so much! I hate you more than I hate my fucking miserable self, you selfish, greedy son of a bitch!”, the strange man was grabbing him by the throat now, his thin fingers squeezing tightly.

Freddie felt his vision go blurry, his chest becoming tight. 

Suddenly, there was movement next to him. Farrokh had woken up, blinking at the scene in front of him, sleepy and innocent.

“No…”, he said softly to the stranger. “Please don´t hurt me.”

“Farrokh…”, the man whispered, his voice thick with emotion, sounding as if he couldn´t quite believe it.

Slowly, the boy pulled away the man´s hands from Freddie´s neck.  
Farrokh smiled at him, a boyishly innocent smile, buck teeth and soft, brown eyes. 

“Farrokh…Is it really you?”, the man asked. His voice was thick with emotions. 

He was crying now, tears running down his cheeks, washing away the make up, leaving behind his blemished, grey skin.

“Well of course it´s me, darling…”, the boy whispered, still smiling. 

He gave the man´s hand a final squeeze and then he laid back down. 

The man laid down next to Freddie as well, struggling to move his legs up to the bed. 

The singer knew that he should be terrified, but a sudden sense of calm had clouded his senses. He felt at peace.

“Are you in pain?”, Freddie asked him softly. 

“Yes…”, the stranger replied, his voice sounding very weak, as if the very act of speaking was a strain to him. “I´m in so much fucking pain every damn fucking day.”

“I´m sorry to hear that.”, Freddie replied and the man gave a small nod.

“You´re married?”, the singer continued to ask as he saw the beautifully crafted golden ring on the man´s ring finger. It was slightly too wide for him.

“Yeah…Best thing that´s ever happened to me. Don´t know where I´d be without him.”

Freddie couldn´t help but smile, when he heard the stranger´s words. He could tell that there had once been happier times for him, times when the ring on this slender finger had fit him perfectly. 

“You still haven´t told me your name…”, he asked, looking into the stranger´s dark eyes.

The man gave a weak little chuckle that quickly turned into an uncomfortably deep cough. 

He needed a moment to recover. Freddie could tell that the man was very, very sick. Slowly, he put an arm around the man´s body, scared that he might fall out of bed in his weak state.

“Oh dear, you really get awfully slow when you drink too much fucking champagne.”, the stranger finally replied and grinned at him.  
“I´m Freddie, darling. Just Freddie.”

“But that´s my name…”, Freddie found himself saying flatly. 

The strange man shook his head slightly, still smiling at him as fondly, as if he was nothing but a naïve school boy who didn´t understand.

“So? What about Farrokh? Isn´t that your name as well?”, the man asked him.

“No one´s called me Farrokh in a very long time.”, Freddie whispered. 

“And still, it is your name.”, the man whispered back to him, giving Farrokh´s hand, he was still holding, a gentle squeeze. 

Freddie blinked at him in confusing. The man was right. Farrokh from Zanzibar. Farrokh Bulsara who had gone to school in India. Freddie Bulsara, who had joined his friends Roger and Brian to form a band. Freddie Mercury, lying in his bed in his house in Munich.

“I´m so tired…”, he murmured, his head spinning again. 

“So sleep, Freddie…”, the man whispered lovingly, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. 

Freddie tightened the hold of his arm around the man´s thin frame, pulling him closer. 

“Might close my eyes for a little while as well…Jim won´t believe me anyways, when I tell him about this crazy dream. Probably just the morphine playing tricks on me…bet that´s what he´ll say…”, he heard the stranger murmur.

“I hope Mum´s made me some mango sorbet when I wake up.”, Farrokh murmured against Freddie´s collarbone. 

“How very kind of her, darling.”, Freddie replied with a sleepy smile. 

“She always makes it for me when my throat hurts…been feeling awfully sick since last night, had a fever and all. That´s probably why I´m having these weird dreams tonight…”, Farrokh said, resting his head back on Freddie´s shoulder.

“Sleep, my dear. I´ll hold you tight.”, Freddie whispered, pressing a tired little kiss to his forehead.

When Freddie woke up the next morning, he had been expecting a massive headache. To his utter surprise, his head felt clear and his body rested. Slowly, he blinked against the sunlight that streamed in through his curtains. 

He shivered slightly, noticing that he hadn´t pulled the blanket over himself and was instead lying on top of it, wearing only his underwear. 

Slowly, he sat up, rubbing his face with his hands.

What a strange dream he had had the night before. He tried to recall it while smoking his first cigarette of the day, but for some strange reason he could neither recall what he had dreamed about, nor how he had gotten home from the club the night before. 

An hour later, Freddie made his way downstairs, wearing one of his kimonos, another cigarette between his fingers, barefoot and slightly annoyed at the fact that he found Paul in the kitchen. 

“Rise and shine!”, Paul chirped at him, busy preparing their breakfast, handing Freddie his first cup of tea. 

“Mornin´ dear.”, Freddie replied, leaning against the kitchen counter while Paul looked at him a little quizzically. 

“Are you feeling any better, Fred?”, Paul asked him.

“I´m feeling quite well, thank you dear.”, Freddie replied, taking a sip of his tea.

“Well, that´s good. You were so eager to go home last night, thought that maybe you weren´t feeling well.”, Paul explained, putting two pieces of toast into the toaster.  
“Checked up on you when I came home at around four. You were asleep but you kept mumbling things…moving your arms and legs. And when I wanted to pull the blanket over you, you seemed very displeased.”

He chuckled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger. Even though it was kind of the Irishman to make him breakfast and check up on him in the night, Freddie couldn´t shake the feeling that the other man wanted something for it in return.  
Even little favours like these never went without Paul wanting something to repay his kindness.

“What kinds of things was I mumbling about?”, Freddie asked him, taking another sip of tea.

Paul chuckled and then grinned at him.  
“Oh, it was so funny. You kept saying Farrokh…just saying your own name over and over…smiling in your sleep.”

Freddie slowly lowered his tea cup. He started to remember his dream from last night. 

“Thought you hated that name, dear. At least that´s what you always say. Don´t call me Farrokh!”, Paul continued, but Freddie didn´t listen to him anymore, the other man´s words blurring into white noise.

“I think I should call my Mum…”, he said slowly, his gaze unfocused, already leaving the kitchen. 

“Why? You´ve already called her on Tuesday! Don´t you take too long or the toast will get cold.”, Paul shouted after him. 

“I need to ask her about a recipe for mango sorbet.”, Freddie replied, already reaching for the telephone, dialling the number he knew by heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
